A Knight of the Nineteenth CenturyRoe, Edward Payson
General
A Knight of the Nineteenth Century
Roe, Edward Payson
Fiction
"Och, Misther Arnot, me woife'll be the death o' me, and thin ye'll have
me bluid on yer sowl. Give me one more--"
"Begone!" said his employer harshly; "too much time has been wasted
already."
Pat found that his case was so desperate that he became reckless, and,
instead of slinking off, he, too showed the same insubordination and
disregard for Mr. Arnot's power and dignity that had been so irritating
in Haldane. Clapping his hat on one side of his head, and with such an
insolent cant forward that it quite obscured his left eye, Pat rested
his hands on his hips, and with one foot thrust out sidewise, he fixed
his right eye on his employer with the expression of sardonic
contemplation, and then delivered himself as follows:
"The takin' up a few minits o' yer toime is a moighty tirrible waste,
but the sindin' of a human bain to the divil is no waste a' tall a'
tall: that's the way ye rason, is it? I allers heerd that yer in'ards
were made o' cast-iron, and I can belave--"
"Leave this office," thundered Mr. Arnot.
"Begorry, ye can't put a man in jail for spakin' his moind, nor for
spakin' the truth. If ye had given me a chance I'd been civil and
obadient the rist o' me days. But whin ye act to'ard a man as if he was
a lump o' dirt that ye can kick out o' the way, and go on, ye'll foind
that the lump o' dirt will lave some marks on yer nice clothes. I tell
ye till yer flinty ould face that ye'r a hard-hearted riprobate that 'ud
grind a poor divil to paces as soon as any mash-shine in all yer big
factories. Ye'll see the day whin ye'll be under somebody's heel
yerself, bad luck to yez!"
Pat's irate volubility flowed in such a torrent that even Mr. Arnot
could not check it until he saw fit to drop the sluice-gates himself,
which, with a contemptuous sniff, and an expression of concentrated
wormwood and gall, he now did. Lifting his battered hat a little more
toward the perpendicular, he went to the cashier's desk, obtained his
money, and then jogged slowly and aimlessly down the street, leaving a
wake of strange oaths behind him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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